In the nearly two hours I’ve been awake, I’ve been going over things to write today. All kinds of random stuff that I won’t get into now. Because ultimately, they were nothing but half-thoughts. Distractions. Something to keep my mind off what happened in the last week of September last year.
Last year on the 25th, I was doing the same thing, trying to distract myself. I tried to make a batch of peanut butter cookies. I baked about eight of them before I gave up and went back to bed, miserable and confused and frightened. All of my instincts were telling me that something was wrong with my baby, but I didn’t want to listen because that doesn’t happen. Babies don’t die.
Obviously, we know better than that now. At the time, I was unable to wrap my head around it. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing was going right. I had been fighting that feeling all weekend, turning myself into a completely useless blob of tears and terror. By Sunday, I was wishing we had gone back to the hospital on Friday or, at the very least, Saturday. I felt nothing from the baby on Sunday. If I’d been capable of any kind of rational thought at all, I would have demanded that Geordie take me to the hospital after he got home from work.
Instead, I cried and slept and cried more when I woke up. Maybe, on some subconscious level, I already knew it was too late.
These are things I can’t talk about today. I thought I might be able to, now that a year has come and gone, but I can’t, not without crying. Not without feeling that impossible weight of guilt. It feels like I’m back in that little hot room in Susono, trying to deny the truth I dreaded so much. These are not moments I want to relive, the moments of unknowing, the moments of panic and uncertainty.
The moments of powerlessness.
There are so many lessons we learn from the loss of a child, and this is the one I feel most of all today: I am powerless. By the 25th of September, I was powerless to save her.
A year ago, I made all the wrong decisions. Today, that’s all I can think about.
And all I can say is that I’m sorry. There’s nothing else.